Nay ;- do not strive to check my tears,
But let them flow unheeded on ; -
The cherish'd hope of future years,
The being I adored is gone.

Oh Mary ! can it really be,
Thy form relentless death hath struck ;-
Were there no flowers less fair than thee,
For his unsparing hand to pluck ?

Must that fond cheek no longer glow
With smiles to chase away my gloom ?
Must that angelic form lie low,
And wither in the silent tomb ?

Thou wast a being moulded of
All that the heart of man reveres,-
A form too fair for human love-
An eye too bright for human tears.

I was in sorrow and disgrace :-
To share them thou did'st not repine ;-
And if a smile illumed my face,
'Twas but reflected there from thine.

Yes ; - in adversity, to me
Thou clung'st with more than woman's love
Oh ! 'twas scarce sin to worship thee,
Thou wast so like a saint above !

Thou wast so pure, that thou would'st not
Believe that others were less free
From sin,-and scarce beheld the blot
All other eyes could trace in me.

Oh could I e'er have lov'd thee less,
Grief had not quite o'ercome my heart ; -
Had'st thou another liv'd to bless,
Then anger might have claim'd a part.

But oh ! I could not brook to think
That thou and all thy gentle charms
Must into cold oblivion sink,
And moulder in death's ruthless arms.

But yet-perchance-'twas well that thou
Should'st fall ere age and earthly care
Had cast their shadows o'er thy brow,
Or sorrow traced one wrinkle there.

Perhaps twas well that thou should'st die,
Ere sin and shame were known to thee ;
Ere tears had dimm'd thy deep blue eye,
Except 'twere those that flow'd for me, -

Ere thorns beset thy earthly lot,
And bid thee at thy fate repine,-
Ere to thine eyes life seem'd a blot,
As now its prospects are to mine.

Yes ! - thou art happy, and I wrong'd
Thy spirit when I shed a tear :
My selfish heart had almost long'd
To call thee from thy blessed sphere.

Submission is but vainly taught
To hearts the fiend Despair has riven ;
And every pure and hallow'd thought
Of mine has fled with thee to heaven.